


Another Kind of Light

by basicallymonsters



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, dumb feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basicallymonsters/pseuds/basicallymonsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I miss you," he says again, feverish and rasping. "You're my only friend, you're the only person who's ever been a default for me, like factory settings; this Dan comes with a Phil, there's never even a question."</p>
<p>Or - they're miserable apart, and the only way they can properly sleep is together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Kind of Light

_I miss us_

Phil frowns at the sticky note curving away from the front door, lopsided scrawl against pale blue. He hates how it looks like it's reaching out to him. 

He fumbles for the keys from his pocket and feels resentment in his chest like a second heart.

He knows just how Dan wrote it; left hand blurring his words out of place, probably crying, probably wallowing, probably worrying his lip like he does when he doesn't want to do either of those things. 

Dan usually _does_ want to though - wrapping himself in sadness like a romantic movie, threading cliches together to keep him warm at night (It's not like Phil can anymore). He imagines Dan going through the motions of grief, moving beautifully on like the end of a character arc. 

Phil peels the note from the wood and fantasizes about ripping it apart, straight faced, fiery, vindictive. Instead he brushes his thumb over the words and feels a pulse of false hope shock through him. He immediately feels foolish, and even sadder than before. He folds the note carefully and slides it into his breast pocket.

When he opens the door he's half expecting him to be there, wide eyed and sorry, but the flat is long cold.

Phil feels weary down to his bones, hands leaden where they ghost over things Dan bought him, palming the place where the note is burning into his chest.

He tries to find it in himself to get to work, to make some food or shoot a video or call PJ because he's pretty sure that's where Dan is crashing. The flutter of productiveness dies in his chest though, and he can't believe the way grief is so physical.

He's honestly forgotten how to be one person. That's shitty and unhealthy but. There it is. He's been one card propped against another, mutual balancing at the top of a castle, and now he's fluttering to the ground, unmoored, unsupported, separate.

And he feels it all the time, he feels unfixable and alone like a throbbing in his heart and lungs and head. He misses Dan so much that he flinches at the sound of laughter outside, can't eat for the fear of losing the taste of him. Even being in the apartment is a struggle - he feels like everywhere he touches is edging Dan out, like a reverse green thumb; the best things in his life are dying in his hands.

He sticks mostly to his room, not playing music in case the door creaks open. He hasn't cried much, feeling mostly like a ghost drifting through the house, giving Dan's things a wide berth and forgetting to shower.

Now he's stripping off his shoes and jacket, changing into pyjamas mechanically. His laptop is dead but he can't be bothered to plug it in, so he curls under his comforter and puts his hood up, listening to rain patter across the window pane.

Phil gives up, inevitably, on sleep, and thrashes free from his covers like they're quick sand. He pads through the dark to Dan's room, hoping to find relief in cool pillows and warm cologne.

He startles when he notices a lump in the centre of his bed, face crumpling when he spots sad brown eyes peering back at him.

He's going to ask how he was so quiet, how long he's been here, how _dare_ he-

"I don't want to be broken up," Dan says.

Phil's makes a soft, choked noise and closes the gap between them, moving to crouch at Dan's eye level.

"You can't keep coming here," he says softly, barely chastising, like a mother who's found their child awake after a nightmare. It's like his words were some sort of password because Dan is struggling to prop himself up, shaking the covers off.

"I don't want to be broken up," he says, more firmly. "At all. There is no part of this that feels right."

Phil rocks back so he's kneeling, the few more inches of space between them guarding him like armour.

"I know. It sucks. All the time," Phil breathes in and doesn't look at Dan's beautiful open face, the way it would be so easy to fall back into this. "But we tried, and we don't work." 

Dan shakes his head.

"We _could_ work, so easily, we used to work like-like nothing, like waking up in the morning. I don't understand why it's harder now, I've been thinking about it, all the fucking time, and I don't get it."

Dan rubs at his eyes, frustrated, and his voice is teetering around breaking when he says, "I still love you, like. It wouldn't feel like this if I didn't, if I didn't-"

"It's not that straightforward. Loving someone isn't the same as being mature or ready or even good for each other- "

"I know that, obviously," Dan says irritably. "But we were-"

"Different? I thought so. I hoped so," Phil whispers. Dan's eyes are butter smooth and Phil can't stand the way they're pouring over him.

"We were trying," Dan says carefully. "Phil, I can't be there- anywhere without you anymore,"

"Dan."

"No, hey," Dan's voice is raising, and he's trying to touch him, falling forwards a little when Phil jerks back.

"I feel like such shit Phil, I miss this apartment, I miss having everything I need and not needing to be indebted to people. I miss not having to apologize for my emotions, or work at making conversations, I miss my bed and I miss you in it, I miss you- hey."

He succeeds in cradling Phil's face, even though he's shaking his head and worrying his lip miserably.

"I miss you," he says again, feverish and rasping. "You're my only friend, you're the only person who's ever been a default for me, like factory settings; this Dan comes with a Phil, there's never even a question."

Phil lets out a watery laugh, and Dan grins at him.

"You're the only person. You're my only- only. You're mine."

"Possessive," Phil whispers, and Dan breathes out.

"Maybe."

Phil meets his eyes and his face crumples, eyes crinkling and wetting Dan's fingers where he's still clutching him.

"Dan."

"Phil."

"Please," Phil says, voice touching desperate.

Dan kisses him, chapped and soft, and when he breaks away his heart hurts, his hands hurt. He feels like he's touching an open flame after living in the freezing cold.

"I feel so rubbish at PJ's. It feels like you're not real sometimes. Nothing of ours is there, I'm so used to everything being in one place, and when it's just me I think. Maybe I dreamed everything. Does that make sense?" Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. "I don't know. I've been surrounded by our stuff. I can't get away from you," he says, smiling ruefully.

Dan slips his hands down into the neck of Phil's jumper. "Can I come home?"

Phil frowns at the floor. Reasons why he shouldn't are looping in his head, every iteration of no is racetrack ready to burst off his tongue.

"Yes," he says, "Please. Yes. I reckon I haven't slept more than four hours since you left," Phil admits.

Dan nods. "Me neither."

Phil bows his face into the crook of Dan's neck and feels the inevitable press of his hands against his hair, carding through and smoothing down over and over.

"It can't be this easy."

"Fuck that," Dan replies, fingers clenching tightly in the buzzed hair at his neck.

"I just. We have to talk things through and everything but I'm literally too exhausted-"

Dan nods against him, warm skin dragging against his.

"The only way I can reboot is if you hold me for about 60 hours, I think," Phil says, and lets himself hold Dan back. His eyes prick with tears.

"Only 60?" Dan teases, softly, like he's not sure he's allowed.

"I have to eat eventually."

Dan kisses his hair. 

"I could be holding you for that."

"Are you going to follow me to the bathroom too?" Phil asks.

He feels Dan shrug and he smiles.

"I love you so much, you know?"

Dan holds him tight and doesn't say anything. Phil can feel his body tense though, like it's trying to form a dam, like his emotions are pressing at his skin to get out.

Phil tilts them down into the mattress, tucking his cold feet under the blankets. Neither of them let go, but they've pulled back enough that he can see Dan's face, his cheeks wet, corners of his mouth jumping.

"Love you," Dan whispers, finally, and brushes two fingers over Phil's lips. "Please be here tomorrow."

"Where would I go," Phil says, and he means it to be a joke, but his voice is as helpless as it's been for days.

Dan kisses him again, so slow that it's lulling them to sleep, and when Phil opens his eyes Dan is blinking slow. 

"We're different," Dan repeats, and curls a hand over Phil's cheek. "I told you."

Phil watches him fall asleep, the exhausted lines on his face going lax and smooth. 

"I hope so."

When he wakes up the next morning, Dan's gone, but he can hear him fumbling around in the kitchen, and there's a pink sticky note tucked into the pillow by his face.

_I missed us_

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Written for phanweek on tumblr) This whole getting back together thing is starting to become my only genre, whoops


End file.
